


The Fears That Once Controlled Me

by Lydia_Eve



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, First Kiss, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 18:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Eve/pseuds/Lydia_Eve
Summary: “Get in, angel, we’re going to Disneyland.”The Bentley’s blocking traffic, but the driver ― hanging out the window wearing sunglasses and a shit-eating grin ― pays no attention. Like usual, his attention is on Aziraphale.Aziraphale gives a little put-upon sigh ―he hasstandards, after all.“Yes, all right.”





	The Fears That Once Controlled Me

“Get in, angel, we’re going to Disneyland.”

Aziraphale, on his way back to the bookshop from having grabbed a croissant and tea from down the road, stops.

The Bentley’s blocking traffic, but the driver ― hanging out the window wearing sunglasses and a shit-eating grin ― pays no attention. Like usual, his attention is on Aziraphale.

The tea will likely spill in the car, and somehow Aziraphale doesn’t think croissant crumbs and the sleek leather seats would be a welcome combination.

Aziraphale stands there, fretting in the street, increasingly urgent honking coming from the other drivers on the road. He twists his hands, or would if he wasn’t holding his breakfast, but his fingers flutter in their grip a little anyway. The world had been saved about a week ago, but surely that didn’t mean they had to indulge in frivolous celebrations.

Although Aziraphale had always been a little on the frivolous side, truth be told, to say nothing of indulging.

A homeless woman sits a few meters away. She thanks Aziraphale for the lovely breakfast. Crowley’s grin widens.

Aziraphale gives a little put-upon sigh ―he has _standards_, after all.

“Yes, all right.”

They make it all the way to Heathrow in relative silence, Crowley leaning over to grin over his sunglasses at every red light. A few green ones too. Aziraphale holds himself back ― although he’s starting to think maybe he shouldn’t ― and answers with an admonishing sort of smile every now and then. A holiday might be nice, the more he thinks about it. He hasn’t been to the Americas since they anyone actually called them the Americas.

The aeroplane isn’t so bad once Aziraphale sees the seats Crowley had bought them. The nice waiters (_“you can’t call them that, angel”_) bring him tea and cake and the film selection isn’t that bad. Crowley talks him into watching something called _Frozen_, and Aziraphale is delighted.

“To think Her Majesty was able to give the snowman summer after all!” Aziraphale cries at the end. Crowley is wiping suspiciously under his glasses but gives snort.

“I’m not sure you need to address a Disney Princess so formally,” Crowley points out.

Aziraphale frowns. “She’s a queen.”

“Yes, but―” says Crowley, and pauses, looking for the words. “It’s ― Never mind. You’re not wrong.”

The Bentley is waiting for them when they step off the plane in Los Angeles. They make miraculous time to Anaheim. The park is just opening when they pull into the parking lot.

“Oh, how lovely,” Aziraphale keeps saying as they walk through the gates. Shops and stalls line the main road, wares glistening from every window. “Crowley, look, it’s Anna and Kristoph on those Christmas baubles.”

“Cute,” Crowley agrees.

“I never usually do a tree ― it always seemed a little too on-the-nose, but perhaps I’ll do one this year,” Aziraphale says and buys ornaments of the entire _Frozen_ cast.

While Aziraphale is paying, Crowley considers Mickey Mouse ears because why not.

“Angel, which ones d’you fancy?” he calls across the shop.

“Disgusting,” an older white man says while his wife next to him wrinkles her nose in agreement. “You should keep your perversions away from the public. There are children here.”

Crowley is appalled, and almost lowers his sunglasses to glare at the couple, but Aziraphale is suddenly next to him, slipping his hand into Crowley’s and twining their fingers together. Crowley forgets how to breathe, much less glare. Aziraphale manages to glare enough for the both of them.

“The rainbow ones, I should think,” Aziraphale says frostily.

Crowley manages to reach for the rainbow ones, his own black ears with the red bow already on his head.

They get the bows. Crowley acutely feels the loss of Aziraphale’s hand when he goes to pay. Outside the shop, Aziraphale considers his ears, then hands them to Crowley.

“Would you?” he asks.

“Ngk,” says Crowley.

Aziraphale kindly overlooks this, tilting his head down so Crowley can place them on his head with the reverence of someone placing a crown at a coronation. Aziraphale touches the ears with a pleased smile as he glances around for a mirror.

“Thank you, my dear, how do I look?”

_Beautiful._

“Festive,” Crowley forces himself to say.

Finding a shiny surface (they’re all shiny at Disneyland, really), Aziraphale deems his reflection satisfying, and they go off in search of a ride.

They hit the merry-go-round, teacups, some strange cave with animatronic pirates that they both agree was a mistake, the teacups again.

“What do you suppose Splash Mountain is?” Aziraphale asks, studying the sign.

The line is long, but they don’t feel the need for any miracles. They exchange sweet and meaningless conversation. They’re both basking in humanity, in the _world_, and nothing seems worth changing a thing at the moment.

Then they go down the first drop on the ride and Crowley shrieks.

“I’m getting off, angel,” he says. “I’ll meet you at the exit.”

Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s hand, the one raised to snap his fingers, and holds it close again.

“Stay,” Aziraphale pleads.

Crowley stays.

The second drop is in total darkness. They both scream this time.

“I can’t, angel, this is ridiculous, who even _designed_ this ride, isn’t it for kids? And what’s the fun of getting wet? Catch my death on this ride, I will.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” Aziraphale answers, still keeping Crowley’s hand tightly in his. “Look, we appear to be finished with the drops.” He gestures to the animatronics dancing along to the music. Crowley supposes it’s kind of cute. Then they begin to climb a hill. It’s big, practically a mountain.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says urgently.

“Be brave, my dear,” says Aziraphale, raising their joined hands to kiss Crowley’s knuckles.

The first time Aziraphale kisses him and Crowley can’t even enjoy it.

“Hold tight,” Aziraphale says with a smile. They’re at the top of the mountain.

The drop is sickening. Crowley throws his head back and screams for all he’s worth. Aziraphale seems to be doing the same thing.

Their boat lands in the water with a giant splash soaking all the people inside. Crowley’s pushes his dripping hair and grins over at Aziraphale to find him laughing. Crowley laughs too. They float down the river to the end of the ride bent over in their seats in laughter. Aziraphale doesn’t let go of Crowley’s hand.

The picture that greets them at the exit has them crying with laughter again, leaning into each other, dripping wet, barely holding each other upright. They look ridiculous ― mouths gaping in screams you can almost hear, heads thrown back. Crowley’s eyes are clenched tight behind painfully crooked glasses. Aziraphale buys it immediately, sending it back to the bookshop to wait with the Christmas ornaments

The thing is, Crowley, worst demon in the world (and kind of proud of it) finds himself terrified of the faster, higher, drop-ier rides. When Aziraphale looks at another rollercoaster, a zippy, droppy nightmare through a mountain, Crowley has conditions.

“Will you hold my hand again?” he asks, braver than he’d been to stay on Splash Mountain.

Aziraphale beams. “Of course.”

And that’s how Crowley found himself on all the most terrifying rides Disney had to offer. It was surely self-destructive behaviour, but Aziraphale held his hand each time, so what did it matter. Crowley would have thrown himself off the damn mountain for a chance to hold Aziraphale’s hand again. Luckily it never came to that, and they safely exited each ride hand in hand.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, watching Crowley throw up into a trash can, “I’m wondering if we should take a break from the rides for a bit.”

“I’m fine,” Crowley insists, straightening. “My fault for having the poutine for lunch.”

Aziraphale sighs and hands him a glass of water. Where it came from is anyone’s guess, but Aziraphale had read an article about plastic bottles and refused to buy them ever since. _(“Water is a human right, Crowley, we shouldn’t be encouraging crooked companies by paying for it.” “Okay, but we’re not human.”)_

“What about that rollercoaster in the dark?” Crowley suggests after gargling with the water. He straightens his ears determinedly.

“I hardly think―”

Crowley won’t hear of it. “Come on, angel,” he says with a grin. Aziraphale looks closer and the grin looks a little manic. “It’ll. Be. Fun.”

Aziraphale has to admit that the ride is fun.

Crowley comes off looking decidedly green again. Aziraphale ushers him to the nearest garbage can.

“No, I’ll keep it down this time,” Crowley says. “Let’s go ag―”

“Oh look,” Aziraphale says desperately. “A parade.”

The parade is magical. Tiana waves from a giant float, Tinkerbell waves her wand at them as though casting a spell. Embarrassingly, it does make Crowley’s stomach feel a little better.

“Look, it’s the sisters,” Crowley says, pointing to Elsa and Anna on an icicle-covered float. Aziraphale sighs in contentment.

They get a picture with Elsa after the parade with Aziraphale addressing her formally again. Elsa seems to appreciate it. Aziraphale is beaming in the picture. Crowley isn’t, but does throw up a peace sign.

They’re licking the last of their ice cream on a bench as night falls. The Californian air is warm, perfect.

“If you could wish upon a star,” Aziraphale says out of the blue, apparently having read too many t-shirt slogans in the shops, “what would it be for?”

Crowley tosses his napkin into the nearest garbage can and looks at Aziraphale over his glasses.

“Do you really not know?” he says. He’s vaguely nauseous, he’s exhausted, his heart is singing with the excitement of the day, Aziraphale’s closeness, and just a little PTSD from Splash Mountain. He’s saying the unsayable and he doesn’t even care.

Aziraphale’s napkin joins Crowley’s in the garbage and he frowns at Crowley.

“I wish,” Crowley says, interrupting the thought forming on Aziraphale’s lips, “to be able to hold your hand whenever I wanted, not just on scary rides.”

Aziraphale’s frown softens. “Oh, Crowley,” he says, and takes his hand once more. He smiles like he’s more sad than happy and Crowley wants to tip the scales.

“What about you?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale’s mouth works like it’s a difficult question with an essay of an answer. He looks out over to the giant castle in front of them. “My wish is more complicated than that,” he says.

Crowley’s not encouraged by that, but Aziraphale’s thumb keeps brushing the back of his hand, and frankly that was Crowley’s greatest wish come true. He’s feeling a little dizzy with it.

“Tell me,” Crowley says, low. “Please.”

Aziraphale looks back at him. Is silent for a long time.

“I wish,” he says at last, “to hold your hand every day.”

Crowley’s breath hitches, but apparently Aziraphale’s only getting started.

“I wish to make you smile. I wish to start each morning with you in my bed. I wish to marry you in front of God. I wish I could go back and listen to what you’ve been telling me for hundreds of years. I wish―” Aziraphale breaks off in a huff, frustrated with himself.

Crowley’s glasses have fallen down to the tip of his nose and his mouth has fallen open most unattractively. Even his ears are a little askew. Aziraphale had been in the middle of the most emotional confession of his existence, but he catches sight of Crowley and has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Angel,” Crowley finally croaks.

Tinkerbell prances past them again, waving her wand at them as she goes. They both feel a little magically better, despite the actor having put in her two-weeks notice already.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Listen,” he says, threading their fingers together more firmly. “I don’t want to go back. I think ― we’re here now. We can absolutely do the rest.”

Aziraphale looks hopeful. “You mean it? You’d marry me? You’d make love to me?” The fact that Aziraphale is even asking with such uncertainty means Crowley clearly hasn’t been saying it loud enough.

“In a heartbeat,” Crowley assures him. He pauses. “I mean, hopefully the love-making lasts a little longer than―”

He’s cut off by the sound of fireworks bursting over the park. Aziraphale’s face glows in the light.

“I hear Vegas isn’t too far away,” Crowley says by way of accepting the marriage proposal of the one he’s loved for a thousand years. Let it never be said that demons aren’t romantic.

Aziraphale’s eyes are a little glassy when he smiles, are more beautiful than the sparks that rain down around them. Crowley smiles helplessly back.

“Are you ever going to kiss me?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale does.


End file.
